Shining Acrylic
by kmyth
Summary: Tatsuha is an artist. Ryuichi becomes obsessed with his shiny paintings.
1. Default Chapter

                                                            Shining Acrylic

Disclaimer: Gravitation does not belong to me. I have no money, not even a penny to compensate you for your time. Good day to you, kind sirs.

Author's Notes: The lyrics to  "Sleepless Beauty" were transliterated by Aoi Housen Danke schon. Oh yeah. And don't laugh at my title please. It gets enough of that from me.

            You didn't need to hear the sound to know it. The waves. You could feel the life flowing through them , through the open air of the stage, crashing into everything on contact. Like a force of nature, this feeling was powerful.

            Particles of color splashed into Ryuichi's eyes as he gazed onto the large stage in front of them. Only days before, this place contained no magic. He'd seen the long pieces of wood, painted a cheap charcoal, fitted together and nailed before his very eyes as Touma busily discussed planning for the concert, beside him. It was all rather boring before you got to sing, before the sparkles fell from the sky, settling onto your overdriven body, making the dull wood vibrate with perfect notes… making it shine. Ryuichi soaked in the scene, gazing to the audience, then back again to Shuichi. Turning ordinary wood into a barrier of magic. This was what fans came for. A surreal experience. This was what he came for. A smile lit Ryuichi's features.  

            From the first time he heard Shuichi sing, the passion in his voice, the way he drove himself to the limit without stops, Ryuichi knew they were the same. Something he'd created came back to kill him. The pink haired boy never intended it. Maybe Ryuichi, himself, never really intended it either.

"Ryu," The hushed voice of Noriko brought him away from his musings. Ryuichi turned to look at her, his eyes losing their sparkle of innocence, giving way to cold, industrial perfection. He nodded to her, signaling that he understood. The bright future would fade away to give praise to the ancients… one last time.  After this show, Bad Luck would be leading, no longer forced back or cloaked by the splendor of Grasper. Time to give the audience paradise, and give Bad Luck hell. Maybe they would never understand what it was to compete.  Ryuichi, himself, had never known before. He reached atop his head, fingers closing around the rim of his cowboy hat, removing it. They said not to put it on in the first place… not to ruin his hair before going onstage. Silly things.  Ryuichi looked down at the hat for a moment, before flicking it away from himself, as though playing disk toss. It spun a full 4 times, calmly cutting through the air, before gliding to the ground beside Kumagoro. There, his friend would keep watch over it. 

            He couldn't remember a time when he felt nervous. Touma and Noriko were always at his side. Two equally passionate musicians. Ryuichi walked after them, the sound of his own footsteps echoing up to his ears, above the noise from the crowd. Tonight felt different. Not even Nittle Grasper itself knew if they would continue. Noriko and Touma both desired more time for their families. It felt like the end of a lovely game of dress up. He would be the one child left amongst the beads, and the crazily colored, oversized clothes, while his friends disappeared to play different games with different friends… again.

            Ryuichi kept his eyes lowered, even as he heard the last words die from Shuichi's lips, and felt the movement of the platform under his feet. Black smoke engulfed the stage, pouring out to give them the concealment they needed. They would appear like ghosts, unearthly beings, as the platform reached the surface of the stage, snapping into place. Touma and Noriko moved away from him, taking up position at their instruments. He could hear the screams of the audience, all coming together into one, as they spotted Noriko and Touma first.  The black smoke cleared, and Ryuichi already felt the hot lights beating into his skin, giving him energy through an unlikely transfer. His eyes opened, and his head raised, as wave after wave of sound greeted him. The audience was vast, and by now the sky was black, with the brightest stars still visible.  The beginnings of a core bass began, melding into synchronous time with the expert notes of keyboard. Noriko's hands glided so quickly over the keys, in a dance of their own.

            Everyone gets high, even the musicians. Ryuichi smirked, allowing himself to fall back into the comfort of performing. To think it may be the last time. Ryuichi's hand grasped tightly to the steel microphone in hand, feeling out the beat, and letting that guide him as he added his voice to the menagerie of genius that was "Sleepless Beauty". No pacing. This addiction could consume anyone. Ryuichi sang into the microphone, feeling pleasure course through him as energy emptied his body, only to be replenished through the reaction of the crowd. Tonight there was no holding back. The power behind his voice doubled. Sing until death.  If this was the concert of death, he would go out giving everything.  There was no need to think about note or pitch. It simply came, like second nature, in all its perfection.

"Deguchi no nai"           

"Shougeki ni taeru tsumori nara."  The words came out clearly, reverberating through the microphone with potency to shatter their worlds.  Though he never glanced back at either of them, Touma and Noriko could feel Ryuichi's intensity far surpassing its usual grandeur. The force behind the words seemed to call them to a challenge, to match the singer's talent with their own.

"Kuzureru hodo."   

It was on. No worrying about saving voice for the many songs to follow. It would hold. This Ryuichi promised himself, as his lips nearly caressed the warm microphone in hand. The bass continued to pound, becoming one with the singer's heart, his body. Pounding, driving his motions. Every movement poured forth from his body like liquid silk. Touching greatness, his body strained, while feeling no pain. It was like morphine, to the point where even he was unable to feel what he did, or why.

            Explosions of color flashed, only exposing the musicians for seconds to the light. Not white light, comprising all colors, but violet light highlighted Ryuichi, making his pale skin glow like moon dust. Glancing to his left, he caught sight of Touma, shining in turquoise, much like the color of his eyes. He was suited to the evening lights, as they glistened over him, only giving Ryuichi and the audience teases, before shifting passed. Ryuichi never let the vigor in his voice die. He was Touma's fan. He was Noriko's fan. He was only a participant in this scene, empting from his cords the fervor they all felt.

            Ryuichi ran a hand through his sweaty hair, slicking it with fallen glitter, as the synthesizers blared on, allowing his voice a moment of rest he did not want. The makeup they'd so carefully dusted to his face smeared by the mere graze of his hand. Their image of perfection was so easily broken. That was never what it was about in the first place.

The rush. The incredible crescendo. Ryuichi, Touma and Noriko blended together to create the kind of music they wanted to hear, a kind of music no one yet knew. No one ever made him feel like this. No one could match it, until Bad Luck. As the words flowed from his lips, the end of the first song approaching quickly, he didn't forget to look back passed the equipment, where he knew a certain pink haired singer watched, always a fan, and forever the future. To even have a small part in creating him, Ryuichi's eyes couldn't linger any longer, as he turned back to the crowd with fluid motion, maybe then, his work was truly done.

"sotto dakishimete  zutto tsukamaete  motto kokoro made kowasu you ni"

            A skilled hand floated just above a rough canvas, the paintbrush held by his fingers connecting to the white in a long curving stroke. It was early morning, yet Tatsuha Uesugi never felt so awake as he did now. Inspiration called him away from tire, to continue feeding off the natural high a Nittle Grasper concert could bestow. He gave little thought to the motions of his hand, simply preferring to release his energy through creative form. In a darkened room, such as his own, it was easy to recreate the scene in his mind, to remember the music, letting it carry into his body, making his heart pound. Thousands of other bodies captured his between them, moving, sharing heat, barely conscious of how or why…maybe not even caring.  

            Tatsuha calmly sighed, stopping mid-stroke to run both hands through his hair. The gods had stood at the center, as always, their heat escaping into the cool night's air, too good for the masses. Touma Seguchi was no god, yet on stage, Tatsuha seemed to forget the fact that Touma was a man he knew well, no different from anyone else. In his mind, Tatsuha could still see Ryuichi Sakuma's body slick from sweat, as the lights reflected off the finer tones of his body, enticing the crowd. To think that that guy was a normal person, like Touma. Tatsuha chuckled. "Maybe I'd hate Sakuma-san just as much," he joked to himself quietly, once again taking up his paintbrush. Never. Hating someone you loved for years and years would never happen, he reminded himself.  As Tatsuha's paintbrush moved, he could feel his eyes becoming unfocused, yet he kept painting in vibrant acrylics. He couldn't feel himself painting that body in detail. Not tonight. The atmosphere was too overpowering, and once again, his hand moved across the canvas, mixing a strange array of plum and black into the background, popping the stage effects all the more within the picture. Rainbow lights had circled the stage, like a broken prism. Ryuichi's face, often obscured by momentary darkness, made him wonder all the more what the man was like. Maybe he was just as much a mystery as portrayed on stage.

            On a whim, Tatsuha reached over to his desk, avoiding the paint tubes, to press the scan button on his stereo. He was sure he'd left the first Nittle Grasper album still within the player. Track 2. "Sleepless Beauty".  The track began softly, previously turned low from before, yet Tatsuha quickly twisted the knob. The beats became more intense, and Ryuichi's golden voice followed, more polished, and less forceful than at the concert.

            The atmosphere of the night's concert quickly began to dominate Tatsuha's painting, and he scowled with every stroke. It wasn't _that _great. The feelings he'd gotten couldn't be translated into art anyway… Not by him. His abilities felt inadequate. If he was going to waste his time painting a concert, it should have been art centered around Ryuichi, like it usually was. 

"Damn. Why am I wasting my time," he grumbled, lazily embellishing the colors of the stage lighting. His strange urge to capture the mystery of Ryuichi even caused him to obscure the lead singer's face with shadow. Touma and Noriko were practically silhouettes, overtaken by the dreamlike colors.

"Looks like a shit fest to me." Tatsuha mixed a new shade of turquoise, a bit darker, adding it to where Touma's shadow fell.  If only the music hadn't pumped him up so much. He could have left with that girl he met… At the moment, he couldn't recall her name. A strip of paper, with name and number, was safely tucked inside the pocket of his jeans, yet he had no desire to even look at it. It was of no use to him at the moment.

            With a strong artistic background in objects, rather then scenery, it seemed all the more pointless to Tatsuha that he should be painting something like this. But as a rule, the young monk never failed to finish what he started.  "Maybe I can give it to Touma," he said, thinking aloud, "Mika will shit a brick if I don't get something for his birthday anyway… less money I have to spend." 

"Come on Kumagoro!"  Ryuichi cheerfully picked up his pink bunny by the head. "Good job protecting my hat, na no da. That show was great, ne? It was so colorful and shiny!"

            With his free hand, Ryuichi lifted his cowboy hat from the floor, placing it back onto his head for the trip back. Unfortunately, now the tour was finished. Instead of preparing for their next stop, they were having congratulation parties, almost as if everyone knew it was the big ending, and they just weren't saying anything. Ryuichi had stayed as long as they were celebrating. Now, with so many people already gone, the force started to hit him, making his heart feel heavy, like lead. Ryuichi pressed Kumagoro closely against his chest for consolation. They'd made it by themselves before, he and Kumagoro could do it again.

To be continued…  (with more dialogue)


	2. seeing shine

Shining Acrylic

Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation or any of its characters.

Author's Notes: Thanks to all the people who reviewed my first chapter ::hugs:: Sorry it took me so long to get this one out. I'm not really happy with it, but eh, such is life. I'll try to make chapter three really good. Tatsuha-kun!

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Chapter 2

Perhaps they kept the lights so bright to make the stark white walls look less dull. Or perhaps the walls were white to remind you that this was a place of business, not play. The walls would always glow as you passed through the corridors, reminding you of where you were, and how lucky you were to be. No windows. That was the worst. Ryuichi passed through the halls of his recording floor, never seeing true sunlight, except for the occasional door someone had forgotten to close. The offices in NG were enormous, with high rising windows, cleaned to the point of invisibility. Touma's office was like that.

He and Kumagoro were back. Back in business… maybe. Ryuichi hummed a soft song to himself, his black and tan converses making a soft padding noise, almost to a perfect beat of "The Rage Beat" as he walked to the soda machines.

Occasionally, to jazz things up, they'd throw a picture on the wall, like "Flowers in a Pot, so-and-so yen", or "The sad man, 100,000 yen". On Shuichi's floor, there was a great painting of this old, wrinkly jazz musician… some American guy. But it was really cool! Ryuichi smiled, punching in the winning combination for an orange juice. There were so many colors all in one place. He would have bought it, but he got to see the painting more right where it was, on the wall at NG.

Ryuichi popped the cap on his orange juice, raising the bottle to Kumagoro's mouth for a quick sip, before he took one of his own. The orange liquid soaked inside the pink fuzz of the bunny's mouth creating an orange juice mustache, which Ryuichi hastily wiped away with his sleeve. Nittle Grasper wasn't recording anything today. Touma was on the phone as usual. Noriko wasn't even at NG as far as Ryuichi knew. Pointless day. Somehow, he knew it would be like this. Just…coming in made the singer feel more at ease, like he was actually accomplishing something. He sighed a bit, the air stirring the brown strands framing his face, as he walked to the elevator, punching the down button. The intent for today was to forget. Forget it all. He leaned against the side of the elevator, pressing the number seven. Seven, the lucky number, also the number of Bad Luck's recording floor. Someone had a sick sense of humor at NG, and it might have been Touma.

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"Ohayo Mr. Wrinkly Man!" A cheerful voice rang through the halls of the busy floor, as soon as the elevator doors glided open. In the midst, a stunned K stood, blue eyes wide behind darkly tinted sunglasses.

"Wrinkly man? ..." K lifted his hand, allowing his finger tips to graze his smooth cheeks. "What are you talking about Ryuichi? In five years, you'll be joining me."

"K!" Ryuichi sprung from the elevator, hitting him with missile-like force. Most times, K was prepared to dodge, but Ryuichi's recent greeting still had the older man a bit shaken. Ryuichi failed to knock the tall American down, yet he did push K back a few steps.

"Is Shuichi here?"

"Ryu, you're making me miss the elevator! Get off!" K lunged for the doors, but the extra weight of Ryuichi slowed his movements. There was no time to shake off the lead singer. Ryuichi could attach like cheap gum to a sneaker.

Just before the doors closed, K managed to press the button again, reopening them. "Get off or you're coming with me!"

"Ahhh! No K! I'm visiting Shuichi! Kumagoro and I are visiting!"

"Then why the hell are you bothering me?" K trudged his way into the elevator, yet Ryuichi still stayed pinned to his shirt… outside the doors. It was like a game of tug of war, and Ryuichi would have lost if not for the leverage his converse sneakers were giving him outside of the elevator. Originally designed for use in the wrestling ring, Ryuichi knew the sneakers come in handy some day. The doors, confused, closed a little, then opened, only to slightly close again, and open.

"The wrinkly man is right behind me, K. You have to look at him, just for a minute!"

K shot him a dubious look. "Ryuichi, there's a very beautiful young woman behind you. I suggest you apologize."

"Wha-?" Ryuichi turned his head, and smiled at the stranger. "Sorry, I didn't mean you. Sorry for holding up the elevator but it's all K's fault." He pulled on K's shirt with vigor. "You're in her way."

"You're in her way," K lazily corrected, stepping out from the elevator. Ryuichi could be such an idiot at times.

The woman bowed low, a smile appearing on her lips. It was impressive to see such a young woman act so professional, yet Ryuichi could crack just about anyone. "Thank you Sakuma-san."

K smirked, watching as the girl entered the elevator and disappeared from sight. "Ah, so popular Ryuichi. It's strange. I believe I was the one who did her the favor, not you."

Popular? How could anyone remain popular for so long? Ryuichi eyes remained transfixed on the steel elevator doors. All things came to an end, and this was just the beginning of that end. Ryuichi's smile, meant solely to please, gradually began to fade along with the passing seconds. It was an exquisite feeling to be loved, even when the people loving you never truly knew you. Money meant next to nothing. It was all about the music, how it made him feel… sharing that feeling… like on the stage several nights past. He could always sing at home in the shower. Living alone, no one would hear it, though the sounds echoed, magnified by the walls of empty rooms.

After being Ryuichi's manager for so long, K was used to both sides of Ryuichi. He could change at the drop of a hat, and sometimes it was just better to let him think for a few minutes. A few minutes were enough. Gently, K laid a hand on Ryuichi's shoulder. "I recall… something about a wrinkly man, Ryu."

"Hai." Ryuichi turned, fluid grace replacing his bouncy movements. "It's a great painting, K. The colors are like cheer.. or like a rainbow that makes me cheerful. Sometimes," he glanced over at K, his eyes taking on a blue shimmer. "Sometimes… you have to stop and look around, K, even here."

"I'm looking. I see no painting," K smiled, humming his words.

Ryu stepped around him. Sure enough, the spot where the jazz musician had hung was now empty, as white and pale as the rest of the walls. Yet… a little to the side, there was a new painting that caught Ryuichi's eye. Colorful… like the old musician… yet shiny. It was a mirage of color intertwining with black shadows and pink flesh. It all seemed so familiar, so emotional filled, like he'd been living inside the painting for years, upon years.

K laughed, watching the hyper musician so mesmerized by a simple picture. "Listen Ryuichi, I have to run to make a meeting. Don't bother Shuichi and the others too much." He patted the singer's short hair, before making his exit. For once, there was a stroke of good luck.

Ryuichi kneeled in the chair under the painting, tucking his legs underneath him, like a child settling in for story time. Vaguely, he was aware of K's presence leaving him. His fingers reached up, running along the same paths as the brushstrokes through the rainbow paradise. The jazz musician was a great painting, with beautiful colors to examine, but this painting was different. This painting, with no name or price, seemed to take him back to something. Like the last concert. The silhouette in turquoise reminded him so much of Touma. The lighting was perfect, like the lighting at the concert. Three performers bathed in the color of light, surrounded by darkness; fighting darkness.

It had been so long since Ryuichi was in this building, much less this floor of NG. This painting could have been hanging here for months, but pure heart told him it was recently created. A creation inspired by Nittle Grasper's last concert. Ryuichi felt no need to close his eyes to imagine. Every memory fled back to him, just from a simple scene. This is what that concert looked like…to a fan. Time seemed to slow down. Absorbed. The person who created this, Ryuichi thought, had to be just as passionate as himself. Passionate for music, maybe. Passionate for art, surely. Ryuichi smiled dimly, with quiet praise. This artist had admired his gift of music, it was only right that he took the proper time to admire the gift of artistry. Ryuichi examined himself, the middle figure, shining in purple, streaked by shadow. This person… he or she seemed to understand… the point of everything. Feelings. Beat. Emotions. Life. So many other people saw Nittle Grasper as but a mere image. Pretty faces. Catchy songs.

Time. As with music, it was so easy to become absorbed in the colors, forgetting time, forgetting self.

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The ding was a soft sound, almost like music. Ryuichi had been stuck hearing it several times over, yet he never paid it much mind.

"Ryuichi…?" K blinked, catching sight of him immediately. "What are you still doing here?" Ryuichi Sakuma had a very short attention span for nearly all things. There was no way he could have been staring at that painting for a full hour. No way. K shook his head, walking up to him.

"K.." Ryuichi's voice conveyed complete seriousness. "I can't read this signature. Right here in the black, in the corner. Can you see it?"

K lowered his eyes to the corner of the painting, a spark of interest suddenly igniting. "Hmmm… that's interesting. He signed it in black paint, over a partly black background. Hard to see without one of these, huh?" From his leather case, K whipped out a magnifying glass holding it up to the exhibit in question. After a few seconds of examination, K frowned. He reached up, and lifted the painting off the wall, setting it down onto the floor. Ryuichi hopped off the chair, settling beside K, as though they were examining something truly secretive, like a treasure map. "This is much better… Hmm… It looks like that one says Tatsuha."

"Tatsuha?" Ryuichi smiled brightly, hugging Kumagoro. "Quick! Quick! The second part!"

"Hold on.." K picked up the frame, turning the signature to different angles of light to discern the name. Ryuichi certainly had perked up at the prospect of discovering the name of this artist.

"A-Ano, K-san… you're not really allowed to take that off the wall!"

K laughed, smiling. "Haha! Sorry! It's already taken offed."

Mei, the receptionist sighed, watching with acute stress, at the actions of the pair. She'd been told specifically that that painting belonged to Touma Seguchi. There were never any special instructions to take care of it, but such instructions could be implied. It was bad enough that Ryuichi Sakuma had been staring at it for an hour like he was going to eat it. Now Mr. K was handling it like a discarded pizza box!

"Please be careful!"

"What are you two doing?" Hiro bent over the pair, leaning a bit on K's shoulder to get a look. "Wasn't that on the wall?"

"Yes! Can you read he second part to this name? First part is… Tatsuha."

"Uesagi!" Shuichi popped up behind Hiro, crashing into him. "Let me have a look! Why did you take this painting off the wall, K?"

"Uesagi!" K suddenly burst into triumphant laughter. "Good work Shuichi! Brilliant deduction!" A second later, Shuichi was barreled over by Ryuichi and Kumagoro. All happening so fast.

"Uesagi? …Tatsuha Uesagi?" Shuichi blinked, obviously confused. "I got it right? Wait.. why did you take the painting of the wall? Who painted it?"

"Tatsuha Uesagi!" Ryuichi sang happily. "I like the painting a lot, so K took it off the wall for me. I hope you won't be sad and miss it. You can come visit it, na no da."

"Tatsuha … paints?"

"You can't take that painting, it belongs to Seguchi Touma!" Mei shrieked, running over and snatching it from K. She gave Ryuichi the evil eye, knowing he coveted it.

"Touma?" Ryuichi stood up, holding out his hand for Shuichi. "Oo.. think he'd sell it? It's too pretty to be sold. Touma probably bought it wanting it all for himself! I know! I'll contact Tatsuha Uesagi-san and ask him to paint me one too!"

"Yes, yes.. good.. you do that Ryuichi-kun." Mei hung up the painting again, her hands shaking like leafs. Hiro noticed. This woman was definitely working on the wrong floor.

Shuichi took Ryuichi's hand, pulling himself up from the hard carpeting. He and Hiro were just going out for lunch, and all of a sudden, the day had turned into a nightmare. This was bad. If the painting belonged to Touma, if had to be painted by the same Tatsuha Uesagi he knew. Ryuichi wanted to meet him. Bad, bad idea. Time for a plan.

"Sakuma-san.. the painting isn't that great. I think it's kind of dull."

In that moment, all fell silent. For seconds, Ryuichi simply watched the young singer with a questioning gaze, as though he were appraising Shuichi's input. Quite determinedly, he'd made up his mind. "I like it and so does Kumagoro. That's two against one!" he snapped, with finality, making Kumagoro nod his head for special emphasis. He didn't want to fight with Shuichi, but Shuichi started it by calling the painting dull.

"Ah...well…" Obviously, plan number one wasn't going to work. Shuichi ran a hand through his pink locks, trying to think up plan number two. Sapped for good ideas, he decided on telling Ryuichi the truth.

"Sakuma-san, I know the person that painted it… the painting." Shuichi gestured over to it, vaguely. Ryuichi noted that he didn't seem thrilled to be talking about the artist. "Well, he's a hardcore Grasper fan, and I wouldn't trust him around you. He'd probably kidnap you, or… or something like that." Shuichi blushed, looking down at his sneakers.

"It's Touma's painting. Touma knows him. It's fine, Shuichi." Ryuichi tried not to seem insulted. Everyone always acted like he couldn't take care of himself. He was used to it with K, being that K was his ex-manager, and five years his senior. But Shuichi, Ryuichi glanced back at him, Shuichi was years younger.

"Ryuichi, you might want to consider what Shuichi says." K looked concerned. He had always been oriented towards protection.

Ryuichi smiled, though it came baring more seriousness then he'd intended. It was like Touma's smile; well-placed for a purpose. "Don't worry Shuichi. I'll have someone else go for me. I'm too busy, and I don't even know where he lives or anything." He touched Kumagoro's nose to Shuichi's. How did it happen that he could lie so well? It was a white lie, he told himself. K still looked suspicious, but it mattered little. "Cheer up! Lets get lunch!" He took hold of Shuichi's hand, pulling him down the hall, leaving the painting behind, seemingly forgotten.

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To be continued…


	3. chapter three

Shining Acrylic  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation or any of its characters.  
  
Author's Notes: Sorry it took so long to update. Please excuse my ignorance of Japanese Buddhism and culture. Doh. This chapter came out all wrong. I had a plan, and I just didn't follow it.

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Kyoto. Finally, he was here, in the city where Tatsuha Uesagi lived. It had taken a few favors to some of his favorite people to find the city and address, but nothing overly difficult. In fact, it was extremely lucky that they could find Tatsuha Uesagi so quickly, because Ryuichi had been dying to meet him ever since Monday, nearly a week ago, when he first saw Tatsuha's painting.  
  
Standing outside the grounds, Ryuichi nervously pulled the edge of his baseball cap down. It seemed almost crude to enter such a traditional looking temple in faded blue jeans, and a plain, white t-shirt. Unfortunately, Shuichi's warning played in the back of his mind, reminding him to keep a low-profile. Even Kumagoro had been left at home for safety. Ryuichi bit his lip. Kumagoro would have talked him through this, reassuring him that it was all right to look as he did, and that Uesagi- san, the artist of such a wonderful painting, could be nothing but cool.  
  
How long had it been since he'd stepped foot inside a temple? If Tatsuha lived in a temple that had to mean he was a monk. Ryuichi frowned, trying to remember whether or not that was the rule. Only monks could live inside a temple? Questions were merely a distraction and Ryuichi knew it. For a second time, he wished Kumagoro could have come. For Kumagoro, he would have to be confident.  
  
Ryuichi entered the temple grounds. No longer shielded by the high, stone chiseled walls, the beauty of the gardens hit him by surprise. There were many varieties of trees, their leaves ranging in color from bubblegum pink, to crimson red. "Pretty," he breathed, quietly taking in the picture before him. Ryuichi watched as a slight wind stirred one of the Sakura trees, carrying pink buds through the air to settle onto a grey, stone path. The soft rustle of leaves reminded him of a gentle ballad.  
  
Inspiration. A soft smile found its way to the singer's lips. He walked up the path, stepping over the elegant, pink carpet of petals, the color of Kumagoro. To the side, a rock garden became visible, but the light colors brought little interest.  
  
Ryuichi stepped up onto a platform, his sneaker softly hitting the solid wood. On a quick inspection of his surroundings, Ryuichi guessed this was where you were supposed to pray. There were dark colored mats to kneel on, and so he kneeled, pressing his fingers and palms together in a long forgotten action. It felt strange. He peeked up at the statue in front of him, wondering what people normally said in prayer. "May I please find Tatsuha-kun soon..." Ryuichi's eyes fell closed, the crease in his brow the only evidence of his deep thought. During a struggle to remember proper prayer, song lyrics filled Ryuichi's consciousness, distracting him from his pure intent.

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Tatsuha stretched his arms behind his neck, as he paced slowly down the dull wooden floor. His eyes were glued to the ceiling, a slight frown marring his features. Funerals were so fucking boring. Two in a row had completely killed his day. Tatsuha congratulated himself on yet another evil pun. Now, at least he could relax a little.  
  
He unclasped his hands, reaching into his tunic for a cigarette. Someone was up ahead, praying. He could see that much. From a distance, the guy actually looked young. Maybe he was unfaithful to his girlfriend or some shit. Kyoto. Ever the uptight city.  
  
Tatsuha strolled up quietly, lighting his cigarette from the orange flame of one of the prayer candles. He planned on passing right through, yet the young man, only a few feet from him, caught his interest. Who the hell prayed that hard? The guy hadn't even moved. Tatsuha took a drag from his cigarette, bending down a little to try to see his face. The fucking hat didn't allow for it. "Yo," Tatsuha nudged him with his foot. "If you're going to sleep, get out. It's disrespectful." Tatsuha smirked at his own authoritative voice. He was so good at this act that even his father believed it at times.  
  
Tatsuha put out his cigarette as the other man stood up. What a shrimp. He was about the size of Shuichi. Okay, lamenting murderer was crossed off the list for this guy. He wasn't bad looking though, from what Tatsuha could see, though the hat still hid his face in shadow.

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Ryuichi grasped the edge of his blue cap, straightening it from a sense of apprehension. Instantly, he wondered if all monks were this rude. Ryuichi honestly couldn't remember. He hadn't been sleeping. He'd been lost in thought, musing over mismatched lyrics. The monk was lucky Ryuichi didn't bit him or something, for breaking his concentration. Kumagoro would have done it, and Kumagoro was a lot nicer than him.  
  
At least, now, he had someone to ask about Tatsuha. "Ano, I'm very sorry. I was looking for Tatsuha Uesagi-san," he said, speaking cheerfully.  
  
The person in front of him, though tall, with a deep voice, seemed to be young, maybe even younger than himself. Ryuichi took a minute to look him over. He was wearing those funny monk clothes, but his head wasn't shaved. He had beautiful black hair, that looked shiny and soft, with equally dark eyes to match it. Perhaps for the first time, Ryuichi found interest in something that lacked color. For a monk, he was really good looking. Ryuichi wanted to beat himself over the head the instant he thought it. He was totally screwing this up! First,instead of praying, he'd been composing song lyrics, and now he was lusting over some monk. Well, not lusting, but it came close enough.  
  
Ryuichi watched as Tatsuha's eyes narrowed in suspicion. The young man paced to his right casually, but the angle didn't allow him to see Ryuichi's face any better. Ryuichi was simply unrecognizable, given the unlikely situation.  
  
"Why would you be looking for Tatsuha Uesagi?" he asked finally, interest lighting his dark eyes.  
  
There couldn't be that many monks this young. Usually Grasper fans were younger, Ryuichi thought to himself, stepping backward. "Well, I'm a really big fan of his paintings and-"  
  
"You're a what?" The monk cut him off, and began to laugh. It wasn't the light, friendly laughter, Ryuichi was used to. It was deeper, like a bass. In spite of the borderline mockery behind the monk's tone of voice, his laughter sounded nice. At least it wasn't fake, forced out of kindness.  
  
"Okay... this is a new one," Tatsuha said, wiping tears from his eyes, as he disrupted Ryuichi's thoughts. "Where did you see my art anyway? It's not like I'm advertising my hobby."  
  
"...You're..."  
  
"Hm?" Tatsuha perked up, looking back at his "fan".  
  
"You're Tatsuha Uesagi?" Ryuichi breathed, looking directly at him. For the first time, Tatsuha caught a clear glimpse of the deep blue eyes hidden underneath the unflattering baseball cap. It shocked him.  
  
Ryuichi smiled up at him, with a joy most adults his age had long forgotten. "I saw your painting of the last Nittle Grasper concert! It really inspired me, na no da!" Ryuichi wanted to add that it inspired Kumagoro too. He chewed on his bottom lip, thinking it over. Tatsuha seemed like a nice guy. Maybe Shuichi was overreacting when he mentioned kidnapping. Still, Ryuichi's nose wrinkled as he thought, he didn't want Tatsuha to start treating him like superstar Ryuichi Sakuma. He was already stocked up on fake friends as it was. It was better to keep his identity a secret.

--------

Ryuichi Sakuma. Ryuichi Sakuma. Ryuichi Sakuma. There was no fucking way this guy was not Ryuichi. Tatsuha's fingers twitched. More than anything, he wanted grab that baseball cap, and throw it away, so he could gaze lovingly into his honey's eyes. So pretty. Tatsuha didn't even notice that drool was beginning to form on the side of his mouth. Ryuichi Sakuma admired his crappy painting! That piece of shit he gave Touma. He'd traveled all the way to Kyoto, for him, for... some reason. Tatsuha, snapping out of his daze, looked over Sakuma-san's clothing again. From the looks of things, Ryuichi didn't want to be recognized. Maybe he was afraid of fans kidnapping him... molesting him... that sort of thing. Who would do something so terrible?  
  
Tatsuha smiled. "So, you must work with Touma or something?" he asked, casually, to Ryuichi.  
  
"Well, I work with NG," Ryuichi answered vaguely. "Your painting is on one of the walls there. The first day I saw it, K said I looked at it for a whole hour! It felt like minutes though. The colors are so shiny against the black, like a broken rainbow over a dark sky."  
  
A whatta? Tatsuha resisted the urge to laugh. Interesting description. Considering that rainbows were sunlight, broken into many different colors, how could a rainbow appear in a dark sky? How could a rainbow be broken? Tatsuha smiled, amused by Ryuichi. He had poetic license. Perhaps the impossibility of Ryuichi's description made it all the more special. "Thanks... I think."  
  
"You don't like rainbows, Tatsuha-kun?" Ryuichi asked, surprised.  
  
"No, no, I love rainbows," Tatsuha insisted, grinning.  
  
"I came to ask you if maybe you could do a painting for me, like the one you painted for Touma."  
  
Tatsuha stared at Ryuichi. This was unreal. How could he replicate that crap? Why did Sakuma-san even like it? "Sure," he responded, almost automatically, "but I have better paintings I could give you. Backgrounds aren't really my thing," Tatsuha explained, gesturing vaguely with his hand.  
  
"I'd like to look at them, but I want one like Touma has," Ryuichi explained, bouncing with excitement. "I really like your style Tatsuha-kun. I feel like you paint with your heart, na no da. That concert meant a lot to me, and seeing your painting of it brings back memories," Ryuichi explained, a faint blush staining his cheeks.  
  
Tatsuha watched, waiting for Ryuichi's next words. Just the look in his eyes spoke so much. Ryuichi's eyes shined a dark, glittery blue, so different from the clear perfection he saw on stage. In that moment, Ryuichi had become a human being, just like Touma. A fallen god.

--------

There were so many things he wanted to say, but every time he opened his mouth, the words refused to come. Maybe he'd been hoping for too much. Ryuichi took off his hat, running his fingers through fine strands of hair. At the moment, he could care less if Tatsuha recognized him. Tatsuha couldn't have created that painting unless he understood.  
  
"Tatsuha-kun?" he asked, his voice floating softly, "... Do you think Nittle Grasper is finished? I look at your painting, and I see all my happiness and work crammed into a single frame. I see it, like a memory. We just keep fading, and fading, and fading, like falling stars."  
  
Tatsuha frowned, silently pondering over Ryuichi's words. "Stars don't fade Sakuma-san. They burn out... You didn't burn out at the last concert. You exploded."

--------  
  
To be continued...


	4. chpt 4

Shining Acrylic

Author's Notes: Thanks to the people that reviewed. Reviews can really brighten a person's spirits. Thanks to Kikirini-chan for pointing out my "Uesagi" mistake. Guilty. I know this is a short chapter. You can send me hate mail if it makes you feel better. I decided to clip half of the chapter, and set it aside for chapter 5. Chapter 5 will be done no later than two weeks from now. The next scene shifts the focus of the story, and I thought it would be awkward to have it here.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Gravitation. As if there was any doubt...

* * *

In the day, the room was dark. In the night, it was even darker. Only a faint glow of stone blue tinted his cold skin. He ran a finger down his arm. A single finger mapped the fine details of his anatomy, as though it were an artist's brush. Ryuichi's eyes remained transfixed on a painting of himself. It was as though Tatsuha knew his body better than he did. The smooth muscles of an arm he'd never noticed, suddenly became elegant in their flowing curves.

Summer colors covered the canvas with warm tones, breathing life into the painting. The tanned, healthy skin in the painting did not match Ryuichi's own skin, which now glowed a pale blue from the lack of light. It was as though someone sucked the life from his body, leaving him to waste.

The faint sound of footsteps echoed from below, steadily growing in volume. Tatsuha promised he would be back soon. Ryuichi carelessly forgot his hat back in the main room of the temple. It may have slipped away from his fingers. He barely remembered taking it off at all.

Tatsuha came back into the room, flipping on a light switch. The color flooded back into the singer's skin.

"Here." Tatsuha handed Ryuichi his blue baseball cap. "I told you I painted a lot of Grasper," Tatsuha commented, pacing over to painting on the floor, which he turned to face the wall. Almost every painting Tatsuha left in his room was intimate, as though he knew no other way to paint.

Ryuichi carefully fitted the cap back over his soft hair, pulling it down to conceal his eyes which now lacked the glitter of innocence. His fingers ran over the worn brim of the hat which never failed him in disguise. The simple wear and tear of the long kept cap brought him comfort, in some unexplainable way.

"You're a good artist Tatsuha-kun," Ryuichi said, with a reserved smile, ever difficult to read.

Ryuichi watched as Tatsuha returned his smile, with a bright one of his own, as if to say, 'I know,' yet that wasn't how he responded.

"Thanks."

It wasn't just Tatsuha's paintings that made Ryuichi feel better. As wonderful as the artwork was, there was something very wonderful about Tatsuha himself. Something that went into his paintings... Something that made Ryuichi want to repay him.

"Tatsuha-kun, where are your crayons?" Ryuichi asked, walking over to a desk covered by numerous art supplies. He picked up a tube of paint, unscrewing the cap only to find that it was black. He frowned in disappointment. As he reached for another color, he felt the warmth of Tatsuha's hand suddenly cover his own. The hold was firm, yet ready to tighten.

"This is all paint... I don't use crayons too much, Sakuma-san. I guess you could say I grew out of them," Tatsuha responded, smirking. His black eyes seemed to shimmer, as Ryuichi looked up into them. For a moment, Ryu was completely stunned. He felt heated pink creeping into his face. Tatsuha was way too close. People didn't talk this close normally. The slightest breath stirred the silky strands framing Ryuichi's face, tickling his skin.

"Tatsuha-kun doesn't like crayons?" the soft voice of the singer asked.

Tatsuha's hold on his hand wasn't gentle, nor was it rough. It felt something like a Chinese finger trap, Ryuichi thought, like the kind people won at carnivals. Once the toy fit firmly around a finger, you knew you couldn't escape. The trap would only tighten as you tried to pull away. Only when you pulled away. That was the impression he received.

* * *

Maybe his statements weren't so stupid, as they were childish. Tatsuha stared down at Ryuichi, taken aback by a question about crayons. That question... shook every selfish thought from his mind.

So vulnerable. At least that was the way he seemed. The explosion at the last concert left nothing but small sparks of stardust in Ryuichi's eyes. It would have been so easy to take advantage of him. He was looking for comfort in a stranger... in a dream. Paintings were nothing more than illusions. The only aspect of himself any of his paintings ever reflected was his love of the body, selfish love that it was.

Slowly, Tatsuha released Ryuichi's hand, letting all chances of that action die. If not Ryuichi Sakuma, who would he respect? If not his idol...

He stepped away from Ryuichi, casually. "... Everyone who was ever a kid likes crayons," he responded. Let it drop. He opened a drawer in his desk. "Colored pencils...?" He lifted a pack of his pencils to show Ryuichi, as though he were aiming to please a child.

Ryuichi walked over, taking the box to examine the foreign objects. He took out a light blue pencil, and examined it closely, frowning. He scribbled a bit on the wall closest to him. "Not enough color." He looked over Tatsuha's shoulder, watching with childish worry. "Ne, Tatsuha-kun, no one ever gave you crayons? I have bright, pretty colors at home that Kumagoro and I share."

"Really? Maybe you should bring Kumagoro with your crayons sometime." Tatsuha closed the drawer, throwing Ryuichi another cheerful smile.

He had Ryuichi Sakuma all to himself, and this was what came of it... Maybe, just being around him was enough... for now.

* * *

The light of day passed to darkness.

Back in front of a blank canvas, it was easy to feel discouraged. Tatsuha closed his eyes, trying to get back to that place, for Sakuma-san. Ryuichi wanted a scene, as reminder of the intensity of a concert Tatsuha could never forget. Sad, beautiful intensity. There was no way to do it right. There was no way to capture it, yet Ryuichi Sakuma personally asked it of him.

Ryuichi's eyes seemed to darken as he asked about Nittle Grasper's fate, if only by a shade. Midnight blue. Tatsuha mixed the color using cobalt and black acrylic. It was strange. Performing truly meant everything to the lead singer.

Glancing over to his side table, littered by various tubes of paint, Tatsuha noticed the picture Ryuichi drew for him. Shiny, colorful, scribbled shit. He smirked, reaching over to pick it up lightly between two fingers. It was a sad day when he started looking for inspiration in rainbow barf. Ryuichi was a talented singer, but he drew like a five year old. He acted like a five year old too, yet there was just enough depth in his dark blue eyes to convince Tatsuha of the singer's true age and intellect.

Tatsuha ran his fingers over the waxy surface, tracing Ryuichi's autograph. He still had no damn clue what the picture above it was. It looked like a multi-colored walrus, wearing a top hat. The important thing about this picture was it was Ryuichi's way of saying it was okay to know him. He never introduced himself.

The room was dark, except for the overhead light shining down on the shadowy colors of a melancholy painting. With each stroke, it grew nearer to completion.


	5. chpt 5

Author's Notes: Thanks to the people that reviewed my story. In spite of my lack of updates, I really do appreciate your kind words. Thanks to Aja for pointing out a lot of my mistakes in an earlier copy of this chapter. Any mistakes still there were produced by me and my almighty mastery of the English language. As for the matter of plot, just because you haven't seen it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

Chapter 5

"It's been a long time since I've seen that nice young boy. He was always so dedicated to prayer." A forlorn sigh escaped the old man, almost as if he was breathing his last. In that instant, Tatsuha half-expected him to croak, but at the last moment, no such luck. The older monk took another breath. Tatsuha settled back onto his kneeling mat, his muscles relaxing, in preparation for the boring nightly conversation with his father.

"Yeah... I guess." He shrugged, barely listening to his parent. How long had it been, a week? The old guy really missed Ryuichi. Hell, his father loved Ryuichi. He probably wanted Ryuichi as a son. If it came to that, Tatsuha would be all too happy to indulge him... for once.

"Why do you like him so much anyway? I bet you think he prays more."

"More than most."

Tatsuha smirked. Ryuichi did like to come to the temple, and while Tatsuha worked, Ryuichi would write songs. He'd close his eyes, and tilt his head downward, concentrating hard on whatever song he worked on. He said the fresh air helped him to think. He always sat under the same tree, the pink Sakura, which lost its buds in gentle mid-day breezes. It was the very same tree that Tatsuha and Eiri used to play under as kids, whether they were climbing, or throwing its fallen petals into the air like confetti. Innocent, childhood fun. The memory hadn't plagued him for years. He only glanced at the tree in passing, as though it were part of a painting... a frame from the past... It hurt to remember sometimes. Everything changed when Eiri left for New York. He and Eiri both changed.

Tatsuha stretched, shaking his head. It was easy to get carried away thinking, when in the dirt boring presence of his father. He should have been working on Ryuichi's painting, but the Uesugi family chat was mandatory, sparse as the conversation might be. It was like the old monk feared to be alone, disconnected from his only family. That was why it was good to have Mika around. She kept the ancient Uesugi entertained, and Tatsuha could simply let his thoughts wander until he served his nightly sentence of family bonding.

"The funeral went okay," Tatsuha remarked, in an attempt to fill the silent air. The task always seemed to be a funeral, as though happiness no longer existed.

* * *

The world was shattering for a second time. What shine ever came from shards? ...There were more edges to cut himself, yet more sides to steal light.

No amount of glue could ever hold it together. Long fingers brushed thick shampoo through wet strands of hair, made darker by the water. The water had gone cold.

Memories played within Ryuichi's mind. Echoes of the near past. Behind Touma's oak doubled-doors, they began to discuss it. Touma and Noriko discussed the second break-up of Nittle Grasper, while he'd kept quiet, holding Kumagoro firmly against his chest, shielding the bunny's ears from hurtful sound. Noriko's arms wrapped around them in a protective hug, as she told he and Kumagoro how sorry she was, and how she needed more time to be a mother...And...they both understood, but it didn't ease the pain.

How many times did he have to be reminded of his age? Even now, Ryuichi could only approximate his age into his thirties. Grow old and people leave you, but there was no one left to leave anymore.

The first time Nittle Grasper broke apart, they all cried, but no one as much as himself. The second time, Touma acted like stone, saying it was inevitable. He listed so many practical, intelligent reasons that no one could argue against. Noriko cried, but it was because of his own reaction, cold as the water now cascading over him. Ryuichi had disentangled himself from Noriko, leaving without a word. Only the quiet shuffle of shoes against expensive wood sounded through Touma's office.

Ryuichi turned off the showerhead. If he cried now... who would care?

Kumagoro was still in the living room watching cartoons. He sat suspiciously close to the phone, yet he hadn't answered any of the calls yet received. How many calls did he have from Noriko, and how many from Touma? Even K had called, asking specifically for Kumagoro and yet Kumagoro wouldn't answer.

The phone began to ring again, until the answering machine clicked on. Ryuichi grabbed a purple towel, running it over his skin. Tatsuha's voice sounded through the machine.

"Kumagoro!" Ryuichi shouted from the bathroom, grabbing another towel to wrap around his waist. "Get that! It's Tatsuha-kun!" Kumagoro pretended to be too involved with the cartoon to notice, yet Ryuichi knew he could hear Tatsuha.

"Kuma!" Ryuichi ran into the room, snatching the phone, just as Tatsuha was about to hang up. "Ta-kun! Sorry, Kumagoro couldn't hear you. He's been ignoring everyone all day for some reason." Ryuichi frowned at the pink bunny. He wasn't being very nice since Touma upset him.

"Yeah, I called earlier too... like a half hour ago," Tatsuha responded. He sounded cheerful and that made Ryuichi smile. Tatsuha-kun was a really great friend.

"Sorry, we didn't hear it, na no da. Kumagoro would have answered normally." Ryuichi picked up his friend, giving him a quick squeeze.

"That's okay. I just miss you and Kumagoro. You sure he's not mad or anything?" Tatsuha asked, his tone still light-hearted. Ryuichi could tell he didn't really think Kumagoro hated him.

"Kumagoro says no. He likes to color with you, and he thinks you're shibby."

"Seriously?" Tatsuha laughed. "Okay. I was just testing him... I'm going to be in Tokyo tomorrow. Ask him if all three of us can meet up."

What would come from seeing Tatsuha? A spark of happiness? Ryuichi closed his eyes, feeling tired. What questions would he ask? They already shared the most painful question of all, the first day they met. Ryuichi remembered asking Tatsuha if Nittle Grasper was finished. The answer he received... the answer he received was true. Stars like Nittle Grasper don't fade, they explode. The explosion was dazzling... mind-blowing...surreal...but nonetheless an end.


	6. chpt 6

Author's Notes: Once again, thanks to Aja for pointing out some of my early mistakes. I hope this version is a bit better. It's written from Tatsuha's point of view, meaning minimal concern about Ryuichi. Deal.

Chapter 6

------------

Every stroke was wrong, yet right. Strange scenes began to appear on canvas, as pink watercolor bled over the warm tan of a tree branch. The blue water of the pond reflected the sky, yet faint ripples of bolder colors disturbed the reflection's serenity. The images shown in the pond were cut and distorted, as if someone had skimmed a rock over the pond's surface, disturbing the water. Tatsuha, Eiri and Mika. Tatsuha glanced at the blurry portraits found within the painting's pond, with no people at its edge to account for them.

This shit was always happening, since Ryuichi. There was no such thing as a solid plan. Paintings came when and how they wanted. Tatsuha rested his paintbrush to the side. They were always the worst subjects too, such as the Sakura tree. It was a symbol of a lost childhood. Ryuichi still retained everything Tatsuha lost, yet the singer was many years older.

As a kid, Tatsuha was always the bad one, but in an innocent way. He angered his father because he liked the attention. He gathered temple donations from old folk for the purpose of buying candy.

Little things. At the end of the day, they never mattered. He shared his candy with Eiri, and apologized to his father. Mika tucked him in at night, along side of Eiri, after a tiring day at the temple. No matter how pissed off Mika was, she'd still say goodnight. Their father would check in on them around a half hour later, to make sure they were actually asleep.

Long ago, Tatsuha locked away those memories, never caring to dwell on why he stayed at the temple with his father. It was just a duty, and yet his painting said otherwise. Even with all the disrespect he gave to everyone, there was still some fondness left in his heart. Still some goodness... so they might say.

The leaves rustled, gentle and steady like soft percussion. The trees seemed to keep the temple forever in shade, just as they always had. Today, tomorrow, from season to season, always faithful...unlike the children.

* * *

Soft humming sounded like music amongst the clatter of dishes, and the chatter of people. Sunlight shined down, beating onto the umbrellas of the outdoor café. It was no surprise that Ryuichi wanted to meet in such a place. Cheer like this could suffocate some people. Ryuichi sat at a table, near the middle of the café, humming to himself or Kumagoro, almost as if he was tempted to sing.

Ryuichi wore green tinted shades, and the same blue baseball cap Tatsuha recognized from before. His attire seemed perfectly normal for an outdoor café.

"Hey Ryuichi."

So empowering to call him by his first name. Some days it felt too good to be true.

Ryuichi turned his head, a smile gracing his face that seemed to shine happiness though his eyes. "Tatsuha-kun! We saved you a seat!" A pink bunny paw waved in the air. Ryuichi was good at gathering attention. The people sitting at the next table were staring. Who wouldn't stare at someone who played with a stuffed animal at Sakuma-san's age? Even if they thought he was much younger, like 16, it still would have been strange.

Kumagoro looked like he could have used a bath, Tatsuha thought, as he neared the table.

"Thanks, this is my seat, right?" Tatsuha took it before Ryuichi could answer. To hell if it mattered which seat was Kumagoro's, as long as he seemed concerned about it. Somehow, when he turned to Ryuichi, the bunny's sloppily-stitched eyes looked murderous. "Hey Kumagoro!" Tatsuha gave the bunny a few friendly pats on the head, which could have been mistaken for skull-crunching blows.

"How have you been? ...I figured you were busy since it's a long way to Kyoto and back."

Ryuichi was avoiding talking to everyone. People like Ryuichi didn't do that sort of thing without a reason, Tatsuha thought, as he watched the singer. Yesterday, after his phone conversation with Ryuichi, Tatsuha called Mika, and asked her if anything happened with Nittle Grasper. She said she didn't know, but that didn't mean that something hadn't happened. They could have quietly broken up, just as Ryuichi was afraid of.

Maybe it was wrong to prod Sakuma-san so soon. It was such a basic question, yet it seemed to drain some of the happiness from the singer's face.

"I haven't been busy. Kuma and I aren't busy anymore," Ryuichi said, his voice sounding soft, as he spoke down to the table cloth. His voice was smooth, far from the high-pitched pleasantry Tatsuha had been greeted with.

"I don't feel so happy when I think about it."

It was like deflating a balloon. Things changed that quickly.

Tatsuha watched as Ryuichi took off his sunglasses, folding and placing them on top of the table. Kumagoro sat limply in Ryuichi's lap, his head bent like Ryuichi's, as if he shared in his friend's sadness. Maybe Ryuichi wanted understanding rather than sympathy? It was stupid to take cues from a plush bunny, but at that moment Tatsuha felt like it was appropriate to try to see things through Ryuichi's eyes.

"Sorry... I didn't mean that you had to tell me anything. All I want is for you to feel happy, okay?" Happy. That simple word again. Probably one of the first words any kid ever learned, yet it was one of the most complex. "You don't have to tell me anything," Tatsuha repeated, not realizing he'd already said it. Ryuichi didn't have to say a word and he could guess what was wrong. The silence between them felt... bizarre. A few minutes without Sakuma-san's stupid antics and Tatsuha felt out of his realm. Sometimes Ryuichi Sakuma became exactly who Tatsuha first expected to meet... the lead singer of Nittle Grasper... a person in complete control.

The sound of a sniffle startled Tatsuha from his thoughts. Now was not one of those times of control for Sakuma-san. Though a bit tentative to get involved with a crying fit, Tatsuha gave Ryuichi a half-hearted hug. People were looking, after all.

"Ryuichi, don't cry here, okay? It'll be all right. Can't you hold it in?" he whispered into his ear.

Just then the damn waiter decided to show up. "Are you ready to order?" His bright, practiced smile, in place. He was probably a nice guy, but he picked the wrong time to show up. Tatsuha shot him a glare to rival that of Eiri.

"I'll come back in a few minutes."

What the hell would make Ryuichi shut up? Tatsuha tried to think fast. Kumagoro sat lifelessly in Ryuichi's lap. Tatsuha grabbed the ratty plushie by its ears, and stood it up, getting a feel for animating it the way Ryuichi did.

"Don't cry Ryu-kun! Tatsuha and I are here for you." Tatsuha imitated the voice Ryuichi used, as best he could. It sounded really, really fucking stupid. He could feel himself blushing.

Ryuichi looked up, face red from crying. With a free hand, Tatsuha gave him a cloth napkin. At least he had Ryuichi's attention, though he had trouble reading Sakuma-san's expression.

"Uhh... Tohma isn't that great anyway. He's--" That was as far as Tatsuha got before Ryuichi started tearing up again. Fuck.

"I mean- we'll paint rainbows when we get home, Ryuichi! It'll be so much fun." Kumagoro's arms waved around frantically. Maybe Tatsuha got a little too carried away, because he could have sworn he heard the faint sound of a rip.

Tatsuha's words seemed to have the opposite of the intended effect, as Ryuichi's crying became... louder. "Shit... Shut up!" Enough was enough! Tatsuha dragged him up from his seat. It was a fucking spectacle. It's like when a parent whacks a kid, the kid starts wailing, then everyone stares. Child abuse. Tatsuha took Ryuichi's hand and dragged him out of the restaurant. It would have been easier to shove Kumagoro in his mouth to shut him up... but that would have been insensitive.

"You know, you don't have to make such a scene," the dark-haired teen griped, as he pulled at Ryuichi's hand, annoyance ruling his actions. "I get it. I can guess exactly what happened, and you don't have to keep crying about it like it's the end of the world or something. Everyone loves Nittle Grasper, but that doesn't mean they don't love Ryuichi Sakuma too. Tohma can be a bastard, but I know he wouldn't purposely try to hurt you..."

No. Tohma wasn't that kind of person... to those he loved, anyway.

Tatsuha slowed down, his grip on Ryuichi's hand weakening. From Tatsuha's other hand, Kumagoro pitifully dangled, a puff of off-white fluff bursting from the seams of his pink shoulder.

"You know what I mean, right? ... If you're lonely, you can come see me." Tatsuha handed Kumagoro back to Ryuichi. The bunny was the least of his concerns. "Nittle Grasper broke up. That's life. It's reality and you can't keep running from it. Even the painting... you don't need some painting of a concert because you'll keep on performing concerts... because you love it, right?"

"Kumagoro." Ryuichi's eyes filled with new tears, as he examined his friend's injury. "You didn't have to hurt Kumagoro to say that, Tatsuha!"

"I didn't do it on purpose..."

Tatsuha frowned as he watched Ryuichi. Tears trickled from Ryuichi's eyes, but he wasn't looking at Kumagoro, or playing with the bunny's damaged arm. Maybe, yelling about Kumagoro was only a distraction.

It didn't matter that it was the middle of the day, with the sun up high overhead. Tatsuha stood with Ryuichi, in the shade, and pulled him close, arms wrapping around his waist. This was how he might hold a lover, yet he was comforting an upset friend. He pressed his forehead to Ryuichi's, sighing half for Ryuichi, and half for himself. How the hell do you get someone to stop crying? He thought, closing his eyes. The dull feeling of pain. He wanted it stopped.

He thought back to how Mika used to comfort him as a child. She'd draw him into a hug, smoothing back his hair to kiss his forehead.

And a kiss it was. Strange how things never come out how you intend.

Barely a touch, but so soft. The purpose of comforting Ryuichi was all but forgotten. Ryuichi's warm breath, so close against his lips... was bliss. He touched Ryuichi again, kissing him more passionately, as though it were a natural action... as though they'd been lovers for years as many as Nittle Grasper's existence.

Taking advantage of Ryuichi Sakuma. A fine day in the life of Tatsuha Uesugi.


	7. chpt 7

Author's Notes: There is a time gap between chapter 6 and chapter 7, because this chapter 7 was originally my chapter 8. I cut my original chapter 7 because it was boring and not entirely necessary to the story, at this point in time.

* * *

After some careful consideration, Tatsuha decided that the water streaming from the showerhead was no different from the water outside. Both were cold…equally cold. The water droplets struck his hand, like heavy beads of ice, leaving behind their cold stings. Now that he considered it, the water coming from the shower was probably a few degrees colder than the rain.

Uttering a few colorful curses at the beginning of the day was practically a custom by now. This morning was no different. A bucket of cold water over the head was not the kind of way most people wanted to start the morning, but then again, most people didn't want to wake up at the ass crack of dawn either. No sunrise could inspire awe in someone so tired.

Tatsuha growled, cursing the alarm clock, which coincidentally happened to be his father. With his father not around, it was okay to say what he felt. Knowing the old man, he probably shut off the hot water, on purpose, just to make sure life was even more of a fucking icy hell than it usually was. Of course, he'd go and say something like, 'The cold water will help you stay alert, Tatsuha.' That's the kind of shit the old man always said, and then he'd smile, as if to really say, 'It will also keep you from ever, ever having a sexual fantasy in my shower… ever'

Bastard.

Tatsuha held his hand into the water, waiting, with little hope, for the temperature to change. It seemed like this was how he spent a lot of his time… waiting for things to alter. Eiri was the only one to change things. Tatsuha only bended the rules. Mika was an absolute loyalist, not that there was much wrong with that, except that she was miserable.

Tatsuha shook his head.

"I wonder if I'll be miserable my whole life, as a monk… until I settle down with someone and have seven or eight monk children. I'd make them shave their heads," he said, musing to himself, frowning slightly, as the water refused to warm up.

Mika was supposed to show up today. She decided it yesterday, out of the blue. That was inconvenient because Ryuichi was also visiting today, some time in the afternoon.

The sunlight was already slowly beginning to creep into the temple, and with the sunlight faded Tatsuha's last hope of blowing off Ryuichi. So much for the luck of the morning shower. He'd prayed for rain for a good five minutes last night. Maybe he should have left a note with Buddha that he needed rain in the afternoon, not in the morning.

Then again, why run from it? The situation was bound to happen sooner or later. Mika would find out all about the relationship. She would definitely bitch about it. Who knew where a relationship with Ryuichi would lead anyway? It was safer just to think of his future at the temple, married to some girl, having pleasant bald-headed monk children, seven or eight in number. Of course, the girl would have to be pretty.

Maybe it was Tatsuha's imagination, but the water felt like it was growing colder.

* * *

In the afternoon, the sun came out of hiding, streaming its blinding rays onto the temple grounds, warming the cold earth. No rain storm of convenience. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

At the Uesugi family temple, the cherry blossoms had long since fallen from the trees, marking the beginning of spring. The air was cool and still, and the soothing silence went undisturbed, with the exception of the calm humming of a content musician.

Things went slowly in Kyoto, especially time.

Tatsuha reached down, his fingers brushing the netted dew off a dying blossom which had fallen to the ground, underneath the sakura tree, being perhaps one of the last to go. Mika should have shown up hours ago. Now, he was left alone with Ryuichi, not that that was such a bad thing.

The sound of light pen scratches against smooth paper were the only indications that Ryuichi was still writing. He'd been writing songs for hours… or maybe it was only one song he'd been working on the entire time. He wouldn't say.

Tatsuha sat close by, his back pressed to Ryuichi's back. Now would have been the perfect time for a cigarette, but Ryuichi hated the smoke.

Quiet times with Ryuichi were boring, but the silence between them was always companionable. At least all the free time gave rise to some interesting fantasies.

Tatsuha reached blindly for Ryuichi's hand, connecting with the cold metal of the silver bracelet Ryuichi wore around his wrist. Even with the slight jerk from Ryuichi, Tatsuha's fingers found their way, locking with Ryuichi's.

"Tatsuha," Ryuichi whined, trying to pull his hand away. The pen that he'd been writing with had fallen into his lap. "I can't write when you have my hand like this…"

"What were you writing?" Tatsuha asked, ignoring Ryuichi's upset voice. It was fun to tease Ryuichi a little. Tatsuha didn't expect an answer to his question. Ryuichi never answered questions about his work, until it was complete and he was fully satisfied.

No answer. Of course.

Tatsuha sighed, filling the silence. "I don't understand why you make me sit like this. I'm getting sick of looking at the pond." It was the same scene in front of him that he'd known his whole life, and he'd been looking at it for the past hour added to that. Sixteen years and one hour of watching stagnant water. There were better things to stare at right behind him.

"Because you were staring at me! I can't write when people do that." Ryuichi grabbed his writing hand and tried to pry free.

Tatsuha smiled evilly, casually tightening his grip on Ryuichi's hand. "I don't get why you're so uptight about your writing, Ryu-chan. Why wouldn't you want me to read it, unless it's something embarrassing… like a love letter? You don't have to be shy. I love you too..."

More silence. How fucking strange.

"You said you loved me yesterday. Does this have something to do with the sex? …I said I was sorry about hurting you. Don't even try telling me you didn't like it."

"Ta-kun… your sister is here," Ryuichi said, his voice even and calm.

Mika chose the most inopportune moments to creep up, almost like she was planning to catch him at an awkward moment. She could have been lurking around for hours, for all he knew. Tatsuha let go of Ryuichi's hand and turned around to face Mika. She didn't look shocked, like he'd expected. Instead she simply looked annoyed.

"Sorry I couldn't show up earlier Tatsuha."

"Don't pay any attention to what Tatsuha says Mika. He's always saying stupid things like that." Ryuichi stood up, unfazed, not bothering to brush off his jeans. He picked up his music sheet book from the ground, and tore a page from the spiral.

"Hey sis. That's okay. I didn't miss you." Tatsuha laughed, completely disregarding Ryuichi's comments. Maybe Ryuichi was the smart one, though at the time he just seemed cold. Tatsuha watched Ryuichi out of the corner of his eye, as the singer folded the sheet of paper, torn from his book.

Turning back to Mika, Tatsuha watched as his sister eyed Ryuichi. He could tell she wanted Ryuichi gone, before the conversation went any further.

"Want to go inside?" he asked his sister, even though he didn't want to be left alone with her. Mika was like having a mother… a very mean mother.

"Kumagoro and I have to leave soon anyway. I guess it's better if we go now," Ryuichi spoke up. He watched the brother and sister carefully, in particular Mika. Ever since Mika showed up, he seemed so much more in charge of everything. In fact, he almost looked angry at Mika… but that was how Ryuichi always looked when he was serious about something.

"Tatsuha, take this, okay?" Ryuichi smiled a little, as he took Tatsuha's hand, placing in it the paper he'd been folding, which was now folded into a perfect paper crane. "Call me later." Ryuichi took Kumagoro's arm, making the plush bunny wave to them. "Bye Tatsuha. Bye Mika."

Tatsuha waved back, stupid goodbye greeting that it was between lovers. "Bye Ryuichi," he grumbled, watching as Ryuichi left him behind with the vicious beast that was 'angry Mika'.

"For acting like such a kid, he certainly does wise-up quickly," Mika said, staring after Ryuichi, the same as her brother. "I'd say he has as much sense as Touma or anyone else they get to manage him."

"Yeah. Sakuma-san is a strange person."

"You mean Ryuichi." Mika leveled a glare at her younger brother. "There's no sense in denying it Tatsuha, so don't even try. Ryuichi apparently told his former manager about your relationship, and he told Touma. K was concerned for Ryuichi's career." Mika shook her head. "I, for one, don't give a shit about Ryuichi Sakuma. I'm more worried about you, Tatsuha… I know that if there was anyone you really loved, it would be Ryuichi Sakuma, but don't you even see how crazy that is? Dreams are fine, as long as they stay dreams. You have to wake up to reality, at some point."

"I was expecting you to yell…" Tatsuha walked to the temple steps, sitting down in a spot where many long conversations between the Uesugi children had passed. He fumbled for his cigarettes and lighter, intent on putting both to good use. It felt good to breathe in the smoke. Better than usual. "I wish you were yelling, because I'd have an easier time ignoring you," he said to Mika, glancing up at her.

"You know I'm right." Mika sat beside her younger brother, stealing a cigarette from him. "You're a priest. Dad depends on you… without Eiri."

"Eiri was the lucky one. There's no one else."

"Even if there were someone else, would you leave Dad like that Tatsuha?" Mika asked, her voice sounding doubtful. "Try to cover it up all you want. I know you and Eiri still care."

"…Maybe." Tatsuha watched the blue smoke from his cigarette curl up into the air, and dissipate. It was nice having something so unimportant to focus on, freeing his mind from such a hopeless conversation.

"Maybe what?" Of course Mika would have to prod.

"None of us asked for it. Why do we have to be miserable? Why did you have to marry Touma? I care about Dad, but what's wrong with being like Eiri? …I admire Eiri more than anyone else because he changed things for himself. He didn't want to be a priest. He didn't care about what anyone said."

"Why do you have to idealize it like that? Eiri wanted to be a writer. Why do you want out? … Ryuichi Sakuma?" Mika scoffed, lightly batting Tatsuha on the head. "What happens if Sakuma goes to America? In Japan, it's very hard to get a second start as a solo artist. He'll always be Ryuichi Sakuma of Nittle Grasper. If he went to America once, he'll go again."

"I wouldn't want him to go." Tatsuha crushed out his cigarette and flicked the butt into the garden. Mika watched it go soaring through the air. It landed next to one of their father's favorite shrubs.

Neither of them cared.

"But if it made him happy… you'd accept it." Mika sighed, her shoulders falling.

"Yeah… I'm going inside. I have some things I need to work on." A white lie. Tatsuha reached for his cigarettes and the paper crane Ryuichi folded for him.

"Does he always give you cute little gifts, like that?" Mika scoffed, snatching up the crane before Tatsuha could reach it. She examined it, only mildly interested. "He wrote something on the inside of this paper."

Tatsuha lifted the paper crane away from Mika, by its wing, holding it up to the light. "I can see the notes written on it." Without a second thought, Tatsuha began to unfold the crane. Unfolding the crane was a difficult task without ripping it, since Ryuichi creased the paper so well.

On the hidden side, Tatsuha saw an intricate composition of notes. The words underneath were written entirely in English. If only he could read English… The only recognizable characters were in Japanese. "To Ta-kun. Love, Ryu."

Ryuichi was tricky, but he didn't count on Tatsuha owning an English dictionary.

* * *

"Could we ever have it all Kuma?" Ryuichi asked, his eyes closing . He placed Kumagoro's soft, light body over his eyes, further blocking away the yellow, artificial light he could sense over his eyelids. Someone needed to change the lights in his apartment. Change them to cheerful colors, like white, violet and turquoise.

Between waking and sleep, he could better imagine things that refused to come to mind in an alert state. He could remember how nice to felt… the warmth of another person… not threatening but comforting. Comfort for the child who missed his friends. Tohma and Noriko would not play anymore.

"Why did I write that song for him in English?"


End file.
